


Jaskier is getting married!

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Breeding Kink, Brief Underage Drinking, Child Marriage, Consensual Underage Sex, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Intersex Male Omegas, Knotting, Lingerie, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Bites, Minor Valdo Marx/Essi Daven, Minor Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Chireadan, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Vaginal Sex, Weddings, basically sex slavery but written in a very cutesy way, belly bulge, brief cock & ball torture, examination kink, more like normalised underage sex, tween pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: Jaskier, 12, gets his first heat. That means he can finally get married, and he's absolutely ecstatic about it, even more so when he meets his gorgeous husband-to-be.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 119





	Jaskier is getting married!

**Author's Note:**

> CW: This work highly romanticizes minor/adult relationships - this is pure wedding fluff, except one party is 12 and the other over 30. If that squicks you out, do not read further.
> 
> Big thanks to Hera for betaing this <3

Ever since he woke up, Jaskier has been feeling… weird. Sweating more than usual, his clothing scratching uncomfortably at his skin, and fidgeting, even worse than he usually did. It’s only after the fourth period he finally catches on to what’s happening. He’s in the locker room, changing back into his clothes after PE, and when he pulls off his gym shorts, he finds his patterned underwear absolutely soaked with slick. _Oh._

He’s in heat. His first ever heat.

Jaskier couldn’t be more excited. In year 7, a good half of his class had already had their first heat and he had been _dying_ to have his - he couldn’t wait to be recognized as a _mature_ omega, to leave school and finally get married to an alpha. He is so happy he could cry - and he actually does, the heat hormones making him emotional.

“Mr. Chireadan?” he calls out to his Health and PE teacher, who’s loitering around the entrance to the omegas’ locker room, waiting for it to empty out so he can lock up. Jaskier likes him - he has a very nice, comforting smell, and he is always so gentle when he’s patching up the various scrapes Jaskier and his classmates obtain during some wilder games. “I’m in heat!”

Mr. Chireadan whips around to face him at the words, and he seems almost as happy about this as Jaskier.

“Are you sure?” he asks, before placing his palm on Jaskier’s forehead. “Oh, wow, really - you’re so warm, like a little furnace!” Mr. Chireadan ruffles his hair with unrestrained glee. “Well then, finish dressing and I’ll take you to the principal’s office and have them call your parents.”

Jaskier obeys, smiling so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt.

“Oh, Jaskier, I’m so happy for you!” Mr. Chireadan says as they walk through the empty school hallways. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah! I’ve been looking forward to this day ever since Essi left. I was there at her wedding and I was _so jealous_ \--”

Mr. Chireadan laughs. “I remember feeling the same when I was your age. I was a late bloomer, just like you - and then one day, I had everything I have ever wanted - an alpha, a cute little pup…”

Jaskier can feel his slick soaking the seat of his pants. It makes him feel giddy. “What was it like? Getting married to your alpha?”

“It was like… like everything finally fell into place. When I first saw Yennefer, I knew I was born to be hers, you know?” Mr. Chireadan’s eyes go unfocused for a short while at the thought of his alpha wife. “She was just a couple of years older than me, but the way she commanded a room… And she is so good to me, too - even allowed me to go back to school, get further education and start teaching. That is all I wish for you, Jaskier, an alpha that will be good to you.”

Jaskier sighs dreamily. “That’s all I wish for, too.”

Jaskier’s mother picks him up from school just a half an hour later. She is ecstatic as well, happy that her little boy is turning into a proper omega, that he'll get to know the joy she herself felt when she married his father. Back home, she makes Jaskier hot tea and a cold compress for his head while he takes a shower and, dressed in clean underwear and a worn-soft old T-shirt, climbs into bed, burrowing beneath layers of blankets.

He hears his mother talking to his father on the phone downstairs, telling him the news. Jaskier knows that his father has already found him a husband in one of his business associates, an alpha in his early thirties - but Jaskier has never seen him. He supposes his husband-to-be must have seen _him_ , his father must have shown him photos of Jaskier, so that the alpha knew what he was getting into - but Jaskier still has to wonder.

He’s so curious about what his alpha looks like, what he smells like - there’s a teeny tiny little part deep inside Jaskier that is anxious he won’t like him, but logically, he knows his worries are unfounded since he’s never heard about an omega disliking their chosen spouse. He’s pretty sure he’s going to love his husband, no matter what.

It's fantasies about his future husband that fill his head as he reaches for his dripping cocklet. Vague enough so as not to set himself up for disappointment- just big hands and strong arms, and nice blunt teeth.

When he brings himself off, the fever abates for a moment. His boxers stick to his skin, saturated with his own fluids, so he kicks them off and doesn't bother with another pair.

Jaskier spends the next few days sleeping, forcing himself to stay hydrated, and jerking off.

***

The day after the fever breaks, Jaskier’s told to wash up and dress in his best clothes because his husband-to-be will be joining them for lunch to negotiate the details of the upcoming marriage.

He washes meticulously, even going as far as to slip a soapy finger into his asshole, just to make sure he is as clean as he can be during his first meeting with his alpha. He towels down and dries his hair, styling it as he always does, and then puts on his favourite light blue dress. It’s a decent length, ending just below his knees, embroidered delicately along the collar, with long sleeves. It goes well with the knee length white socks he pulls on afterwards. It's an outfit he reserves only for the most important of days and, as he settles in to wait, he _knows_ it looks good.

He tries reading one of his favourite poetry books, but he’s so anxious he can’t focus on the words. He keeps reading lines over and over until he gets bored of the familiar shape of one and moves on to another. The clock keeps ticking, and with each tick and tock another moment closer to lunch - Jaskier’s skin is _crawling_ with anticipation.

He really can’t wait to meet his alpha.

He wants to be as lucky as Mr. Chireadan was - he wants his alpha to be strong and stunningly beautiful and kind. He wants an alpha that will be more focused on the family they’ll build together than on his career. He wants an alpha that will be good to him, that will take care of him. He wants an alpha --

“Julian, come down,” his mother calls, “we’ve got a very special guest!”

Jaskier's heart very nearly leaps out of his chest.

He darts out of his room, quickly checking his appearance in the hallway mirror as he passes it, and runs down the stairs.

The first thing he notices is the strong alpha smell that hangs in the air, musky and spicy - similar to the way the young alphas Jaskier sometimes crossed paths with in the schoolyard had smelled, but so much _more_. He feels a little lightheaded with it.

Then, he finally lays eyes on his husband-to-be. He’s tall, about a head and a half taller than Jaskier, and broad-shouldered. He’s _big_ \- Jaskier can see all the muscle on him, even hidden underneath his black suit. What’s truly striking about him, though, is his face - the sharp cut of his jaw, his gold eyes that immediately fixate on Jaskier - and the silky white hair that frames it, falling down to the alpha's shoulders. The colour makes him look _mature_ rather than just _old_ as Jaskier would expect… he finds he likes it, a lot. He likes the way his alpha looks. He’s devastatingly handsome, the epitome of alphahood -- and Jaskier, as entranced as he is, can’t help but feel a little nervous, wondering if his own form is acceptable.

"You must be Julian," the alpha says. His voice is so deep Jaskier could _melt_. The alpha reaches out for his hand - that Jaskier readily offers - bringing it to his face and nosing at the scent gland at the inside of his wrist, offering his own to Jaskier. "I'm Geralt."

"Geralt," Jaskier tries out the name, how it feels in his mouth, "it's a pleasure to meet you, sir." He inhales his scent. It’s so much stronger here, right at the source. "If I may ask - ?"

"You may," Geralt allows, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I'd prefer it if you'd call me Jaskier, if that's okay with you."

"I don't see any reason not to," Geralt smiles. He presses a chaste kiss to Jaskier's scent gland before he lets go of his hand.

Jaskier is absolutely _smitten_. He finally understands what Mr. Chireadan meant - he, too, suddenly knows he was born to be Geralt's.

"Thank you, sir," he says.

They move to the dining room for lunch. Jaskier is, to his tremendous delight, seated next to Geralt. He shuffles his chair just a tad too close, so that he can feel the warmth Geralt's body radiates, so that he can be enveloped in his mouth-watering scent. Geralt gives him a knowing look but he indulges him without protest.

Jaskier's mother serves them all food and drink - she brings out a bottle of vintage wine, one reserved for special occasions, and Jaskier is, for the first time in his life, poured a glass as well (only half of it is pure wine, though - the rest is just water).

His parents - well, mainly his father - and his future husband talk pleasantries over the meal, mostly about work. That's why Jaskier nearly chokes on his food when Geralt turns to him and asks, "Tell me a bit about yourself, Jaskier."

Jaskier is usually very talkative, able to drone on and on and _on_ about his interests when interacting with his classmates, yet at this moment, he can't remember a single thing about himself.

"Um," he says, eloquently. "I'm twelve."

Geralt chuckles and shakes his head fondly. "I know _that_ ," he says, "I meant something, you know, a little bit more personal."

"Uh - yeah, sorry I - I don't know why I said that," Jaskier stammers. He runs a hand through his hair. "I like music," he tries, searching Geralt's face for approval - he’s been told numerous times that he should try to reign in his endless chatter, since many alphas preferred omegas that were seen, not heard, and the last thing Jaskier wants is to annoy his husband-to-be merely half an hour after meeting him. But when Geralt motions for him to continue, he can't help but _beam_. “I sing and play the piano, though I’ve been thinking about taking up a new instrument recently. I read a lot.”

“What books do you like to read?”

“Adventure, mostly,” he’s too embarrassed of the fact to admit that he read through the majority of his mother’s romance novels - he loves their saccharine sweetness and he doesn’t mind in the slightest that once you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. “I’m also into poetry.”

“Do you compose poems?” Geralt asks.

“Yes,” Jaskier grins, “and my teacher says they’re really good!”

Geralt’s big, hot hand pats his thigh. “Well, then you'll have to recite them for me sometime.”

Jaskier’s heart swells with the amount of love he feels for his future husband already. In school, he was often teased that his dumb little hobbies will be of no interest to his alpha - that writing poems is too childish and that playing music is too loud - and yet, here he is, and Geralt, an alpha above all alphas, is asking him to show him his poetry. This is even better than he has ever imagined - he thought his interests would be begrudgingly tolerated at best and outright forbidden at worst. Geralt really is the only one for him.

“It would be my pleasure, alpha,” he says, and watches a muscle jump in Geralt’s jaw at the title.

“Now, Jaskier, is there anything _you_ would like to ask _me_?” Geralt prompts. His face is open and kind, like Jaskier really is allowed to ask him about _anything_.

“Why me?” is what tumbles out of his mouth. “Are you _sure_ I'm right for you? I mean, how come you, with all your superior alpha-ness, haven’t gotten married yet? You must be _drowning_ in engagement offers - ”

“That I was,” Geralt admits. “You know, for a long time, I thought I could live alone, without an omega of my own. Then, one day at work - about two years ago, I’d say - your father was going around, showing us photos of you, giving us your shirt to smell, talking about how he’s looking for a mate for you - and I instantly knew I _needed_ to have you, had to make you mine. I couldn’t get you out of my head ever since. Words cannot explain how happy I was to hear you finally had your first heat.”

Jaskier feels himself flush. He really changed Geralt’s worldview without even lifting his finger. That just goes to show that he’s perfect for Geralt, just like Geralt is perfect for him.

They finish the meal in pleasant conversation. When everyone’s plate has been cleaned, Jaskier, his father, and Geralt move to Mr. Pankratz’s office for further marriage negotiations, while Jaskier’s mother stays to clean up.

Mr. Pankratz pours himself and Geralt a glass of whiskey.

“To your marriage,” he toasts, and they clink glasses, before they both settle in comfortable chairs that stand next to the massive oak desk.

Jaskier stays standing idle by his father’s side, intently studying Geralt’s handsome face as the two alphas sip their drinks in the quiet. He notices there’s papers on the desk - most likely the written up marriage contract, ready for Geralt and Mr. Pankratz to sign and make it official.

“I want to see him before I sign,” Geralt says at last. “Properly.”

Mr. Pankratz nods. “Julian, strip,” he orders.

Jaskier scrambles to obey. He takes off his socks and then his dress, folding both neatly on the ground. His hands settle on the waistband of his cherry-patterned boxers and he hesitates, eyes darting between his father and his future husband.

“Yes, even those,” Geralt says, “though I must admit you look very cute in them.”

Jaskier pulls down his underwear and folds it as well. When he’s finally naked, his father motions for him to hop up on the table. The wood is cold against his bare skin, but Jaskier quickly warms up - he feels himself go red when he feels Geralt’s eyes roaming over his naked form.

Oh, what does his husband-to-be see? Jaskier knows he’s still lanky with youth, and he also knows that there’s the first hint of dark hair on his chest - he wonders if Geralt still finds him attractive, even naked. In porn, he usually sees omegas that are pretty much hairless, and he can’t help but worry that’s what Geralt expected to get - he just hopes his future husband wouldn’t break off their engagement over something like that, something that can easily be remedied - Jaskier would be willing to shave himself smooth, all over, and keep it up for the rest of his life if it meant Geralt would keep him.

But Geralt doesn’t even bat an eye. “Lean back a little,” he instructs him instead, “and put one of your feet up on the table.”

Jaskier does as he’s told, even if the pose - in which he is giving Geralt a perfect view of his genitalia - makes him feel embarrassed and exposed. He fights those feelings down. He’s perfectly safe with Geralt. There’s nothing to be shy about - Geralt simply wants to know the full extent of what he’s getting before putting a ring on it and after all, if they do end up married, Geralt will see him naked many times and he’ll literally be _inside_ him.

Geralt moves his chair closer, all focus on Jaskier’s privates. He takes his small prick in his big, warm hand and inspects it, along with his balls, covered in downy hair. Then he reaches for Jaskier’s hand and guides him to hold his cocklet and underdeveloped testicles out of the way, so that he can take a look at his cunt. Geralt dips his thumb between his lips to part them, rubbing against Jaskier’s hole in the process.

Jaskier bites his lip so he doesn’t moan, but a whine escapes him nonetheless.

Between his legs, Geralt smirks. “You enjoying this, baby?” he asks. “I know you are. You’re so fucking _wet_ down here.”

It takes Geralt saying it for Jaskier to realize it. There’s heat stirring low in his belly, and he feels himself gush slick as Geralt keeps gently prodding at his pussy, pupils blown wide as he watches his own fingers. Jaskier’s half hard in his hand. It’s a perfectly justified reaction - the hottest alpha he’s ever seen is touching him where no one has ever touched him before, all intent, fiery focus -

Geralt withdraws his hand, the tips of his fingers shiny with Jaskier’s slick… and he licks all of it off.

Jaskier’s cocklet twitches in his grasp and his pussy _throbs_. He’s having a hard time remembering his father is in the room with them, watching all this with disinterest and impatience.

Geralt hums. “You taste very good, Jaskier.” He pats his thigh, “Get down and bend over for me.”

Jaskier obeys, laying his upper body down on the oak table. Geralt pulls his cheeks apart and inspects his asshole. Jaskier is now very glad he thought to wash there as well.

Geralt hums, pleased. “Both holes untouched,” he remarks.

“Of course,” Mr. Pankratz says, “Who do you take me for, Geralt?”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Geralt explains, “I’ve just been warned that some alphas like to sample the goods before giving their children away. I’m glad to find that isn’t the case here.”

Mr. Pankratz nods to himself. “So, everything else is up to your liking?”

“Yes,” Geralt says. “Julian is a lovely omega.” He sits back in his chair and Jaskier takes it as permission to stand up straight. He doesn’t dress himself, but he does fold his hands over his crotch, feeling stupid for being so aroused in the midst of a completely clinical, formal discussion. “I’ll take him.”

Jaskier very nearly jumps out of his skin with happiness. He’s _really_ going to get married to this strong, handsome alpha -- a squeal rings out through the office and only after Jaskier realizes he was the one who let it out.

Geralt gives him an indulgent little smile.

Without much ceremony, the two alphas sign the contract - after all, there is enough space for all the pomp during the actual wedding that will take place three weeks from now.

“Before I go, there is something I’d like to ask of you, Jaskier,” Geralt says.

Jaskier nods eagerly for him to go on.

“How often do you touch yourself, baby boy?”

Jaskier is hit with another wave of combined embarrassment and arousal. “I - um - about five times a week, I’d say?” he guesses, “sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“Okay,” Geralt says. “I don’t want you to touch yourself until our wedding night. Do you think you can do that?”

Jaskier has never attempted anything similar before. When he’s horny, he jerks off, and that’s the end of it - he never tries to just… ignore it. It sounds easy, but Jaskier knows that things that sound easy don’t have to necessarily _be_ easy. He wants to try his best for Geralt - bend to his every whim, follow every order - but he also doesn’t want to make a promise and then break it, thus disappointing his husband-to-be. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” Geralt assures him. His voice is soft and patient and Jaskier is very much _in love_. “You’ll try to be a good boy for me and try your hardest to refrain from touching yourself until our wedding night. For every time you play with your cock until then, I’ll slap your cute little balls twice, and for every time you play with it _and_ cum, I’ll slap them five times. Understood?”

Jaskier gulps - _having his balls slapped_ sounds like a rather painful affair - but he nods. Geralt knows best and he's justified in punishing Jaskier however he sees fit. “Understood, alpha.”

"Don't go soft on him, Geralt," Mr. Pankratz speaks up. "Lax alphas make for unruly omegas. I'd say five and ten would be more adequate."

“We’ll see how he’ll manage,” Geralt shrugs. “Should it prove too difficult for him, I’ll take him to be fitted with a chastity device…” He turns to Jaskier again, ruffling his hair, “but you needn't worry your pretty little head about that just yet.”

After Geralt leaves, Jaskier drifts, dizzy with happiness, for another several hours, until the last traces of Geralt’s wonderful scent disappear.

***

In the upcoming weeks, Jaskier's life is a blur of wedding preparations and cold showers. He ticks off every day that he gets closer to his big day in his calendar.

He sees Geralt almost daily - he comes by to confirm organisation details with Mr. Pankratz - but they don’t spend much time _together_. Usually, Jaskier sits around while the two alphas talk about the important things, listening intently - listening _quietly_ \- and when they finish, he gets a few minutes he can chat with Geralt before his husband-to-be has to go - he’s a busy man, and even busier now that he has to organise their wedding. They talk about how their day has been, or Geralt asks Jaskier to read him a poem or play something on the piano… a few times, he even asks him about his opinion on something wedding related - “What colour do you think the flowers should be?” “Yellow! Please please _please_ , can we have yellow flowers?” - and after Geralt leaves, Jaskier tries to fight down the arousal that blooms in him in reaction to Geralt's mere electrifying presence.

While his future husband takes care of the important stuff, Jaskier himself holds the traditional pre-marital fast - a diet consisting of a lot of fruit and no meat, to sweeten both his scent and his taste - and tries on his mother's wedding dress over and over so that the tailor can alter it to his measurements.

***

Three weeks come and go and finally, it is the day of Geralt and Jaskier's wedding. In the morning, Jaskier wakes up all fluttery - he can barely eat breakfast because of the anticipation bubbling in his stomach.

His mother helps Jaskier with the dress, styling his hair and putting on make-up. She flits around him as he watches his reflection in the mirror, watches how he turns from a boy into a beautiful bride. His mother is in the middle of brushing his hair when he sheds the first tear of many - they are tears of happiness, yet his mother immediately turns him to face her, pulling him to rest his head on her chest, pressing the scent gland on her wrist to the one on his neck, making soft shushing noises.

“Oh, Julian,” she coos, “don’t tell me you are scared.”

“‘M not scared,” Julian hiccups. “I am so - so unbelievably happy, ma - I can’t wait for Geralt’s ring - for his _bite_ \- “

“It’s okay, dear boy. Every omega cries on their wedding day. Just let it all out, darling.” She kisses the top of his head as Jaskier sniffles. She passes him a handkerchief, and he blows his nose and dries his tears, and they get back to work.

The dress he has inherited from her is beautiful: it is as white as snow, decorated with delicate lace and tiny pearls, with long sleeves and off-the-shoulder neckline - which draws attention to his pale, soon to be marked throat. Jaskier could keep looking at himself wearing it for forever, enamoured both with how he looks in it and what it represents.

His wedding. To his alpha. _Finally_.

He’s so busy mooning over his reflection that by the time his mother finally herds him into the car, they are almost running late. The whole ride, Jaskier keeps fidgeting - rubbing his fingers together, tugging at his sleeves, prodding at the bouquet of yellow flowers in his hands, playing with the hem of his veil - he’s restless with want. After three weeks of waiting (and _years_ before that), the few-minute drive to the wedding venue feels like eternity.

When they arrive, he leaps out of the car, right into his father’s arms. The alpha looks Jaskier over, before a satisfied smile settles on his face. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?” he says. “Come on,” he takes Jaskier by the elbow, “it’s starting.”

Mr. Pankratz opens the door for them, and the first thing Jaskier notices is that Geralt looks absolutely stunning. He’s standing on the other side of the hall, by the altar, but Jaskier finds his eyes drawn only to him, ignoring everyone else in the room. His future husband is wearing a fitted black suit, a waistcoat underneath, and a black bow-tie. His hair is pulled back in a half-up half-down hairstyle. There is a splash of colour on his lapel - a yellow boutonière, matching Jaskier’s bouquet.

As he’s walked down the aisle, Jaskier starts weeping again, meanwhile his cheeks hurt from how much he’s smiling.

This is the best day of his life.

The first whiff of Geralt’s scent he gets is pure _heaven_.

Jaskier’s heart soars as the officiant begins the ceremony. The words _“We have gathered here today to witness the union of Geralt Rivia and Julian Pankratz…”_ almost do not register in his brain, since his whole head is a frantic buzz of _“it’s finally happening it’s finally happening it’s finally happening”_. He does snap back into reality when he’s prompted to speak, though.

The vow is something they’ve learned in school _years_ ago, and his mother had him repeat it twice a day in the last three weeks, but Jaskier still has to concentrate hard not to stumble over words in his excitement. “I give myself to you, alpha. I am yours to own, to claim. I promise to dedicate my entire life to serving you, loving you and creating a family with you. I am putting my womb, my heart and my soul in your hands; I am laying everything I am and everything I’ll ever be down at your feet.”

“I am claiming you, my omega,” Geralt answers. “You are mine to own, mine to keep. I promise to guide you, teach you and protect you; I swear to give you a family to care for. I hold your womb, your heart and your soul in my hands; everything you are and everything you’ll ever be belongs to me. I am stepping into the role of your alpha after your father, fully aware of all the rights and obligations that come with it, and I treasure and cherish it.”

Listening to Geralt’s vow sends a pleasant thrill down Jaskier’s spine, and it’s not just the near-month of sexual abstinence. The alpha vow speaks to something deep in his core - to his deepest, basest desires, to the completely primal part of him that cares only about being claimed, mated and bred - it stokes his arousal without mentioning anything even _remotely_ explicit.

“You may now bite the bride,” the officiant concludes.

Geralt gets this wonderful, predatory look in his eyes that goes straight to Jaskier’s groin, and reaches for his veil. Amusement flickers on the alpha’s face for a split second when he notices Jaskier’s teary eyes, and Jaskier _knows_ he is being dumb and overly emotional, like omegas often are, but he’s way too excited to feel ashamed. Instead, he bares his neck expectantly.

Geralt leans down to nose at the scent glands there. Then Jaskier feels the wet heat of his mouth, soon joined by a sharp pain as Geralt’s teeth clamp down, sharp alpha canines piercing skin, drawing blood - but that sensation quickly melts into mindless bliss and Jaskier sighs and sags against his alpha, his mate, his _husband_. Geralt’s tongue laves at the bite and Jaskier imagines he notices the claim taking effect, notices his own scent shift towards something owned, something kept.

Jaskier is still slightly dazed as they exchange the rings. They are just simple gold bands, but Jaskier loves them nonetheless - anytime he glances at them, he remembers the gentleness with which Geralt wrapped a piece of thread around his ring finger just a few weeks prior, his alpha’s hands so _big_ in comparison to his own, so that he could get Jaskier’s ring size right, and that’s a million times better than any precious stone other omegas might have on their wedding rings.

Beside himself with excitement, Jaskier surges up and presses his lips against Geralt’s. Geralt seems surprised for a short while, but then one of his hands settles on the back of Jaskier’s neck to draw him closer, his thumb resting possessively against the sluggishly bleeding bite, pressing down on it just the slightest amount, so that pleasure and pain twist together in Jaskier’s belly. At first, the kiss is just a chaste press of mouths together, since Jaskier, never kissed before, doesn’t know any better, - until Geralt’s tongue prods at the seam of Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier opens up to him obediently. Geralt’s mouth still tastes of Jaskier’s blood. Their tongues slide against each other, and Jaskier tentatively tries to copy Geralt’s movement.

His first kiss with his alpha. His first kiss _ever_.

Geralt draws away when they are both out of breath, even though Jaskier would be willing to keep going until he suffocated. He wipes Jaskier’s tears with his thumb, and then he takes the handkerchief the officiant is offering him to press it to the claiming mark on Jaskier’s throat, so that he doesn’t bleed on his white dress.

“Hold it there, baby boy,” he instructs him. “It should stop bleeding in a while. Are you feeling alright? Need a glass of water, or to sit down? A lot of omegas feel faint after being claimed - “

“Only thing I need is you, husband,” Jaskier says. “I feel fine.”

“Well, do tell me if that changes. Don’t want you fainting on me in front of all these people. They would say I am not taking care of you properly.”

With the ceremony over, servers with champagne glasses start milling about - Geralt snatches each of them a glass - while other helpers bring in tables and start arranging food on them. Geralt offers Jaskier a hand, and he eagerly latches onto his husband as they move to mingle with the guests.

The first person they encounter is an alpha with long, raven-black hair. She’s wearing a dark violet pantsuit that matches her eyes. Hanging on her arm, just like Jaskier is hanging on Geralt’s, is a familiar omega.

“Mr. Chireadan!” Jaskier exclaims. “I didn’t know they were inviting you, too! Do you know Geralt?”

Mr. Chireadan gives him a soft smile and reaches out to cup his cheek. “Hey, pup. Didn’t you forget about something important?” His gaze darts meaningfully between the raven-haired woman and Geralt and then back to Jaskier.

Jaskier looks down at the tips of his shoes, sheepish. He feels his cheeks heat up over his fuck up. “Omegas do not speak before alphas,” he says. He chances a look up at Geralt’s face. “I’m sorry, alpha.”

“Apology accepted,” Geralt smiles. “You’ve just been very excited to see Chireadan again after so long, which made you forget. But you’ll make sure to remember in the future, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Jaskier nods quickly. “Of course, alpha - thank you, alpha.”

“Well well well,” the raven-haired woman - that must be Yennefer, if she is Mr. Chireadan’s alpha - speaks up, “I have to say, Geralt, I have not expected you to ever get yourself an omega - much less to have such a sweet little thing wearing your claim, although his manners leave something to be desired. What made you change your mind?”

“Perhaps your constant bragging about your family,” Geralt says. “Or maybe Jaskier was just too lovely not to marry.”

Jaskier quietly preens at the praise. He likes that Geralt thinks he is lovely.

Yennefer’s eyes turn to him. “Yes,” she agrees, “very lovely indeed. Though you might pass away while you’re mounting him, old man.”

Geralt sips his champagne. “I admit not a lot of people get married this late in life,” he says. “But Julian’s a late-bloomer. He was made for me, it seems.”

“So it seems,” Yennefer says. “Oh, I can’t wait for the little ones! They’ll be just adorable. I’m sure they’ll get along splendidly with ours. Are you looking forward to having a family of your own, Jaskier?”

Jaskier perks up at being addressed. “Yes!” he smiles widely. “I can’t wait to be a mommy, I want to give Geralt so many pups!”

“Pregnancy will look just great on you,” Yennefer tells him. “My sweet Chireadan looks his best when he’s waddling around barefoot, heavy with child.”

“That _will_ be a good look on you,” Geralt purrs in his ear, pulling Jaskier closer to him.

Jaskier nuzzles at his jaw, giddy from the compliment. He realizes that Geralt might knock him up _tonight_ , and it sends a thrill down his spine. When he looks at Yennefer, he sees her nose twitch, probably smelling all that lust pouring off of him, and it makes him blush. But he’s an omega that has just married the best alpha in the world, so nobody can expect him to keep his feelings in check.

“Well, I won’t keep you much longer - you two need to mingle,” Yennefer says. “Congratulations, Geralt, truly. I never once believed all your bullshit about never getting an omega, and I’ve never been happier to be proven right.”

“I’m sure you’ll be holding it over my head for the foreseeable future.”

“You bet,” Yennefer smirks. “Enjoy your wedding night.” And with that, Yennefer and Mr. Chireadan depart.

“How do you know Mr. Chireadan’s alpha?” Jaskier asks Geralt once they’re alone.

“We went to school together,” Geralt explains. “She married Chireadan right after graduation, and she has been pestering me to settle down and start a family ever since.”

“But you didn’t want that until you saw me,” Jaskier finishes for him, grinning from ear to ear.

“No, I didn’t,” Geralt agrees. He leans close to Jaskier’s ear, dropping his voice so low no one can possibly overhear what he says. “Now I can’t wait to breed you full, baby boy.”

Jaskier gulps, loudly, not used to being spoken to like this. Oh, he likes it, don’t get him wrong - but having this said to his face is very different from hearing it in porn.

“M-me too,” he whispers.

Geralt grips his jaw and kisses him. It’s only Jaskier’s second kiss, but he’s slowly getting the hang of it, opening his mouth to Geralt’s tongue.

“You have to wait until we get home,” Geralt says.

Jaskier pouts, but mostly just to get a smile out of Geralt.

He’s… okay with waiting. He’s excited, but he’s also terribly nervous. Putting fingers inside himself has always seemed too daring for him - he was afraid he’d hurt himself, or he’d fuck up so bad he wouldn’t be tight anymore. And he wanted to be tight for his alpha. Plus, while no one ever outright _forbade_ him to finger himself before marriage, he _had_ been strongly advised not to do it, so he didn’t.

It only makes sense he’s nervous about his wedding night, since he doesn’t have any idea how having something inside feels. It’s not that he’s afraid Geralt will hurt him - he’s sure his husband will handle him with care and with love - he just has no idea what to expect. He wants to like it, he wants to like it _so badly_ , and he can’t get rid of the fear that he _won’t_.

But then there’s a part of him that is absolutely sure that he’ll love anything Geralt does to him. Because how could he not? Geralt is positively gorgeous, the picture of perfect alpha. Just his scent gets Jaskier wet. And gods, Jaskier wants him so much, wants Geralt to fuck him and knot him, wants to experience the same pleasure that can push omegas in porn to tears.

To say Jaskier has mixed feelings about his wedding night would be an understatement.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he notices Essi waving at him.

“Oh, Geralt - that’s my friend Essi and her alpha, Mister Marx. Can we go say hi, please?” he asks.

“Of course,” Geralt says, pressing another kiss to his lips. Then, he walks them over to where Essi and her alpha are standing.

Essi got married almost half a year ago now, to Valdo Marx, a young alpha fresh out of college, to whom she has been promised some time ago because their parents knew each other. Jaskier was at her wedding, and it was absolutely magical, and it only made him more desperate for his first heat to hit.

Essi is glowing, there’s no other word for it. She’s wearing a pink, flowery dress with a high waistline, to accomodate for her growing belly. Her husband is making sure that everybody knows she’s his by wearing a matching pink bow-tie, which Jaskier finds adorable.

“Mister Marx,” Geralt greets the other alpha. “I’m glad you’ve accepted my invitation.”

“I couldn’t say no. Essi wanted to be there for Julian,” Mr. Marx says. “Congratulations, by the way. You make a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you. Now, let’s get another drink.” Geralt gestures to their empty champagne flutes. “And leave these two to chat for a bit.”

“Sure thing. I don’t need to eavesdrop on omega chatter,” he winks at Jaskier and Essi. “Be good, baby,” he tells his wife.

“Behave, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and then the two alphas head to the bar.

Jaskier and Essi promptly fall into a tight hug.

Essi giggles. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, Jask! I was worried the wait would wear you down.”

“It almost did,” Jaskier says. “But then one day - poof, my heat is here. And here I am, on my wedding day, mated to the best alpha under the sun.”

“Funny,” Essi grins, “last I checked, _I_ was mated to Valdo.”

Jaskier laughs. Then, he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Essi sighs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t see each other more. But I’m settling in Valdo’s household, and I get tired so easily now that I’m carrying a pup, and Valdo is absolutely _insatiable_ , he wants it more the bigger I get - “

“I didn’t need to know that,” Jaskier cuts her off.

“No, Jaskier, you do,” Essi says, chuckling. “I doubt Geralt is going to be any different. Once his subconscious realizes that _his_ pup is growing in your womb, he won’t be able to keep his hands off you, I promise. But pregnancy makes you… _excited_ a lot, so your needs will probably match. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

“Gods, Essi!” Jaskier hisses. “My main concern right now is to survive my wedding night. Anything past that is second priority for me.”

Essi takes his hands in hers and looks deep into his eyes. “I was afraid too,” she admits, “I think everyone is. But, Jaskier, your first night with your alpha is going to be magical, I’m sure of it. It was for me.” She smiles. “Try not to think about what worries you too much. Focus on the nice things and just… enjoy yourself. Follow Geralt’s lead and let him make you feel good.”

Jaskier lets out a deep breath. He’s feeling much less jittery after Essi’s reassurance. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll try my best.”

Essi pulls him into another hug. “And remember, darling: the sooner Geralt knocks you up, the sooner we can watch our pups together - oh, quick, feel my belly, the little one is kicking!”

***

The rest of the wedding goes just as smoothly. Geralt and Jaskier, hanging onto his arm like a proper omega husband, mingle with their guests. They make small talk and sip champagne (though Geralt cuts Jaskier off after his second glass) and dance - mostly upon Jaskier’s request, but Geralt _does_ seem to enjoy leading Jaskier around the dancefloor, having him in his arms, twirling him around in front of everyone.

In the evening, they dispel their company and Geralt gets a taxi to drive them home - to Geralt’s house, that is, which is now _their_ home. During the ride, they are both quiet. Jaskier is still nervous about their wedding night - it is mostly a happy kind of nervous, excitement bubbling in his stomach. Geralt seems deep in thought - he looks Jaskier up and down, though his gaze more often than not lingers on the fresh bite that is already starting to scab on Jaskier’s throat, and his big hand is burning a hole through Jaskier’s dress, high up on his thigh. It makes Jaskier feel hot all over.

When they arrive, Geralt helps Jaskier out of the car - Jaskier needs it, having never worn a dress as long as his wedding one - and then he picks him up and carries him over the threshold.

Geralt’s home is nothing like what Jaskier is used to. The Pankratz house is cluttered with things, while Geralt’s abode is… not entirely spartan, but there’s much more free space. Maybe it will change once Jaskier has been living here for some time - there will be his things on the shelves, children’s toys on the floor…

“Let’s go upstairs, omega,” Geralt purrs, and Jaskier shivers in his hold. Here it is, too soon and not soon enough.

Geralt effortlessly carries him up the stairs and into the bedroom. There, he finally sets Jaskier down.

Jaskier presses their lips together, wanting that comforting familiarity of how good it feels to calm his nerves. That, at least, he knows, and it soothes him a little bit. If he likes this, then surely he’ll like the rest of it as well.

Geralt licks into his mouth, running his tongue along Jaskier’s teeth. He rakes his hands through Jaskier’s hair until his delicate lace veil falls to the floor.

They part, breathing hard.

Geralt slowly turns Jaskier around, pressing himself along Jaskier’s back, his chest a solid wall of warmth. His hands go to the many little buttons at the back of Jaskier’s dress. As he works to undo them, he kisses Jaskier’s neck and his naked shoulders, sucks on the fresh mating bite to make Jaskier whimper.

Even though Geralt’s mouth on his skin is distracting, Jaskier can’t help but notice something hot and hard poking his lower back. _Oh_ , he thinks, _that’s big_. He feels himself gush slick and nerves flutter in his stomach.

One by one, the buttons pop out of their eyelets, the dress slowly slipping down Jaskier’s shoulders, revealing more skin, which Geralt immediately puts his mouth on, rightfully claiming every new discovered inch as his.

When Geralt reaches the last button, it only takes the slightest tug to get the dress to slide down the rest of Jaskier’s body to pool around his ankles on the floor. Geralt lets out a pleased rumble and turns Jaskier back around to face him. He rakes his gaze over Jaskier’s form, naked hunger in his eyes.

Jaskier is happy to see that Geralt is appreciative of the bridal lingerie he picked out for himself.

It’s a white, delicate looking ensemble, consisting of a garter belt and panties, both made out of a thin lace with a rose pattern and decorated with miniature satin flowers, and silky sheer thigh highs. The garter belt sits in the dip of his waist, holding up his stockings, while the panties cup his hardening cocklet obscenely.

“You’re beautiful,” Geralt breathes.

Jaskier flushes, red blooming high on his cheeks. “Thank you, alpha,” he stutters out. He’s finding that he _really_ likes it when Geralt praises him. “I wanted to be pretty for you.”

“You’re always pretty, omega,” Geralt tells him. “You could wear anything and still be the prettiest little thing I have ever seen.”

Jaskier feels himself go a little weak in the knees.

Geralt pulls him into another kiss. His big, hot hands slide all over Jaskier’s body, setting his skin alight with his touch. His thumb brushes over Jaskier’s nipple, making him inhale sharply. He squeezes a handful of Jaskier’s ass, and Jaskier whimpers, lightning shooting up his spine.

Jaskier tangles his fingers in Geralt’s long mane. He presses himself closer, until his cocklet rubs against Geralt’s muscled thigh, until he feels Geralt’s dick poking his stomach.

“Though, I must admit,” Geralt speaks up again, “you look very, _very_ pretty in this. I think I’ll get you more of these.” He cups Jaskier’s little prick through the lacy panties, and a wave of heat shoots through him at that. “They make you look like the best present, all mine to unwrap.”

Geralt is still, regrettably, fully clothed. Even his bow-tie is still tied neatly around his neck.

“Alpha,” Jaskier says, “can I see you, please?”

“Of course, baby.” Geralt draws back and shucks off his jacket. Then he takes off his waistcoat and unties his bow-tie.

It’s torture to just stand back and watch, idle, as his husband slowly undresses, so Jaskier steps into Geralt’s space once again and captures his mouth in a kiss. His hands blindly fumble for the buttons of Geralt’s shirt, and when they find their mark, they begin the process of uncovering more of Geralt’s skin.

As he works, Jaskier moves lower to nose at the scent glands on Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s scent is strongest here, musk and spice and something _known_ , something comforting and familiar - the unique and absolutely mouthwatering scent of his mate, his husband.

Buttons come undone under Jaskier’s nimble fingers, and then he’s faced with the sight of Geralt’s broad, sculpted chest. Gods, his husband is _so big_. It’s so hot. Jaskier runs his palm over the plains of muscle - it’s hard and soft all at once, like steel wrapped in velvet. He reaches the waistband of Geralt’s trousers.

He gives Geralt a mischievous smile as he goes to his knees. It puts him eye-level with the fastening of Geralt’s pants, which he opens, and then he bows low and unties the laces on Geralt’s shoes. He pulls the shoes off, and does the same with the socks. He kisses Geralt’s naked feet - a sign of respect for his husband - before he tugs his trousers down and helps him step out of them.

Where Jaskier’s underwear is elaborate and pretty, Geralt’s a lot more simple, but it still frames him nicely. His cock is straining in his black boxer briefs, creating a prominent bulge under the fabric.

It’s _really_ big.

Jaskier hesitantly reaches out to touch it - he cups the bulge in his palm, and then squeezes a little, plays with it. Geralt’s breath hitches at the first touch.

“It’s so big,” Jaskier whispers, and then he admits: “I’m scared.”

“You don’t need to worry, omega,” Geralt tells him, one hand coming down to stroke Jaskier’s hair. “You’ll like it. You’re made for it, it can’t hurt you.”

Jaskier nods to himself. It’s a logic he can’t argue with: omegas are made to be fucked - their cunts are made to be filled with alphas’ knots. How can it hurt when Jaskier’s body is built for it? Plus, if his alpha says so, it must be true.

“Don’t worry,” Geralt repeats. He helps Jaskier stand, and gives him a sweet, gentle kiss to calm his nerves. “Do you trust me?”

What sort of a question is that? _Of course_ Jaskier trusts his husband! He’d trusted him with his life the moment he met him, and now that he’s bonded to him, he feels it even stronger. “Yes, I do, my alpha.”

“Then just trust me, my little omega. Simply follow my lead. I’ll make it good for you, I promise. You’re going to love it.”

“Okay, my love,” Jaskier whispers. His mate will take care of him.

Geralt pushes Jaskier to walk backwards, until he’s stopped by the bed. Jaskier falls on his back on the soft mattress, and Geralt towers above him, big and muscular, and Jaskier feels _safe_ under him, owned and protected. Loved.

Geralt kisses his throat, laves his tongue over the bite he left there hours prior. He bites at Jaskier’s clavicles. His hands cup Jaskier’s tits.

Jaskier yelps when one of his nipples is pinched, and then lets out a sharp gasp as Geralt closes his lips around the other and sucks on it. _Fuck_ , he never thought his nipples would be so sensitive. It never did much for him when he tried to play with his tits, but now that it’s Geralt doing it, it’s electrifying.

Geralt makes his way to his belly, leaving wet kisses in his wake. He undoes the fastening of Jaskier’s garter belt, and then the clips that hold up his stockings. He lets the belt drop to the floor somewhere behind him, and continues lower. He presses a singular kiss to Jaskier’s cocklet, bulging his panties, stretching the sheer fabric obscenely, and hooks his fingers in the elastic and pulls them down Jaskier’s legs.

When he holds them in his hands, he inspects them closely. “These are absolutely soaked, Jaskier,” he observes, warm amusement evident in his voice. “You must have been leaking like a faucet since the start of the ceremony.”

“Can you blame me?” Jaskier retorts, “when you were standing right next to me the whole time, being all… _you_.”

“Being _me_?” Geralt questions, quirking an eyebrow at Jaskier’s eloquence.

Jaskier nods. “All… sexy, tall and muscular. And - and then you go and just _say_ things that make me drip like - ”

“Like an omega on their wedding night?” Geralt finishes for him with a cheeky smile.

Jaskier blushes furiously and looks away.

Geralt chuckles. He discards the panties. He kisses over Jaskier’s hip and bites at the sensitive insides of his thighs, but he doesn’t put his mouth where Jaskier wants him most, not yet. Instead, he moves on to Jaskier’s thigh highs, pulling them off his legs, until Jaskier is entirely bare before him.

“Lie back,” Geralt instructs him. “Raise your legs - hook your hands under your knees and pull them up to your chest, as close to it as you can - yes, just like that - good boy, show me what’s mine - “

Jaskier folds himself in half, so that his knees almost touch his shoulders. It’s still a little uncomfortable to put himself on display like this, but he’s quickly getting used to it. There’s no sense in feeling embarrassed about his alpha seeing his genitals. He _loves_ Geralt, feels the safest he has ever felt with him, and even if he didn’t (which he _does_ ), Jaskier _has_ vowed that Geralt owns his body just a few hours prior.

Geralt settles between his thighs. “Now, three weeks ago, I asked something of you, do you remember?”

Jaskier’s breath hitches at the reminder. “Yes,” he agrees.

“Good. Can you tell me what it was, baby?” He reaches out with one hand, takes Jaskier’s hard little cocklet between his thumb and forefinger and starts jacking it leisurely. Precome dribbles out of the slit.

“You - you told me not to touch myself,” Jaskier chokes out, “not to touch myself, or - or to cum. Told me I had to wait until our wedding night.”

“Exactly,” Geralt says. “Now, be honest: were you able to make it? Did you hold out?”

Jaskier feels himself flush. Apprehension settles in his stomach. “I didn’t touch myself,” he swears.

Geralt sees right through him. “But...?”

“I - oh, that’s embarrassing - I, um, one morning - ten days ago, I think - I woke up and - and my sleeping pants were wet. When I checked, it was a mess of slick and come, and I - _ah!_ I remembered the dream I had that night, and figured I must have humped my mattress to completion while I was sleeping and having this… pleasant dream.”

Geralt’s brows draw together. “And you swear that you didn’t touch yourself?”

“I didn’t,” Jaskier insists, “you have to believe me, alpha - I would never disobey you - I was a good boy, I _swear_ \- “

“Relax, baby,” Geralt kisses his thigh, “I believe you - “

Jaskier lets out the breath he’s been holding.

“ - though, you _did_ come without my permission, so I still have to punish you.”

“Alpha!” Jaskier squeals. He knows his husband should punish whatever behavior he deems inadequate however he sees fit, he respects it without question, but the thought of having his balls spanked is… a little scary, to be honest. He’d had his behind spanked numerous times throughout his childhood, and he knows how much that hurt, and he’s sure this will hurt even worse.

“I’ll take the fact that you didn’t consciously disobey me into account,” Geralt says. “So I’ll only give you three slaps instead of the five you’d get for touching yourself and coming - on the condition you will tell me about your dream as I spank you. Yes?”

“Yes, husband,” Jaskier readily agrees. He pulls his knees even closer to his chest, so that Geralt has enough space to work.

Geralt stops jacking his prick, instead letting it lie against Jaskier’s abdomen, so that it doesn’t get in the way. “Well? I’m listening, baby,” he prompts.

Jaskier’s voice shakes as he starts talking - he can’t help it, he’s dreading the first hit like crazy. “I - I dreamt about our wedding night. You brought me to your home for the first time, like - like tonight, and you - you slowly got me out of my dress, and then out of my underwear, and then - “

Jaskier _screams_ as Geralt delivers the first slap to his balls. Pain shoots through his entire being, and he digs his nails into the meat of his thighs to fight the urge to squirm and hide away from Geralt’s vicious hands. He grits his teeth, nearly bites off his tongue. He’s going to be a good omega, a wonderful mate, a perfect husband, and he’s going to endure this.

He catches his breath again. “Then - then, you laid me out on the bed, and you - you explored every part of my body, touching me, kissing me - “

Another slap. Jaskier cries out and squirms, tears springing into his eyes. He hiccups and weeps as he continues talking: “A - a - and after, you - you fucked me. You - you made it so - so - _so_ good for me, and you filled me with your c - cum and knotted me saying there was no way it didn’t catch - “

Jaskier wails as his balls are slapped the third and final time. They tingle with pain, and they feel _so_ hot, like they’re on fire - the throbbing pain shoots into other parts of his body, twisting in his gut. Jaskier chances a look between his legs and there, beneath his - still _very_ hard - prick, his balls are blood red.

Geralt’s looking up at him with satisfaction etched into his features. “You did so well, pup,” he praises, rubbing Jaskier’s thighs soothingly. “You were absolutely wonderful. Taking them so beautifully… and what a nice dream you had. _Shh, shh,_ it’s okay, baby. You know, since you did so well, I think you deserve a reward. Would you like that?”

Jaskier blinks away the tears clouding his vision, so that he may see his husband clearly. “Yes.”

“That’s not how we ask for things we want, is it?” Geralt asks.

“Please, alpha,” Jaskier says, “may I have my reward?”

Geralt just grins. He leans forward and presses a feather-light kiss to Jaskier’s burning balls, Jaskier’s body jerks upon the contact. Geralt moves his mouth lower, until his breath ghosts over Jaskier’s wet cunt.

Jaskier moans when his alpha puts his mouth on him.

Geralt’s mouth is wet and warm and feels infinitely better than Jaskier’s fingers did when he clumsily rubbed himself down there, better than his mattress and pillows did when he humped them. Geralt’s tongue circles his hole, teasing him before licking a broad stripe over it, repeating the same rhythm several times. Geralt sucks at him, eyes intently trained on Jaskier’s face.

The sight of his husband framed by his thighs, licking at his pussy, is the most erotic thing Jaskier has ever seen.

When Geralt finally dips his tongue into his hole, Jaskier throws his head back and screams his pleasure to the world (or, the ceiling, at least). There’s a part of Geralt _inside_ him. The feeling of a hot piece of muscle inside him is intense, and it becomes almost overwhelming when Geralt dives in deeper. He starts fucking Jaskier with his tongue, and Jaskier can only keen and try (with little success, given his position) to twist his hips up into Geralt’s ministrations.

Geralt brings a hand up, to gently play with Jaskier’s folds in time with the pistoning movements of his wicked tongue.

“ _Daddy_!” flies out of Jaskier’s mouth, unbidden. He’d heard omegas whine that word as they got pounded within an inch of their life in porn, but he had never thought… But now that he’s said it, he finds he likes it - a lot - even if it brings certain shame.

Geralt stops and grins up at him in a most predatory way, canines flashing in the low light. There’s a mix of his own spit and Jaskier’s slick on his lips, on his chin. In that moment, Jaskier feels like he’s about to be swallowed whole.

“Did I hear that correctly, baby?” Geralt asks, though he obviously does not expect an answer. “My my my, what a naughty boy I’ve brought home. Tell me, where did you get that from?”

“Porn,” Jaskier admits, cheeks heating up even further than they were.

“A very naughty boy indeed,” Geralt muses.

“‘M sorry, I won’t call you that again - “

“Oh, you will, babydoll,” Geral says, punctuating it by a hard bite to Jaskier’s inner thigh. “You’ll keep calling daddy that because daddy likes it as much as you do. Now, tell daddy what you want.”

“I - I want you to fuck me,” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt tsks. “That’s not how good boys ask, now is it?”

“ _Please_ , daddy,” Jaskier whines, high and needy, “fuck me, pretty please - “

Geralt hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his boxer briefs and tugs them down. His big, fat cock springs free, and Jaskier gets his first look at it. It’s flushed with blood, leaking precum from the slit at the tip - and near the base, Jaskier can see the beginnings of a knot swelling. Geralt is, simply put, _magnificient_. Oh, Jaskier wants him inside himself _so_ badly.

Geralt kneels in the vee of Jaskier’s legs. He holds his dick near the tip, and he pushes the head to glide back and forth between Jaskier’s wet folds. Every time it passes over his wet, aching hole, Jaskier can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes him in anticipation of being penetrated.

“Relax, baby,” Geralt murmurs. “You have to be relaxed so it doesn’t hurt.”

Jaskier forces himself to take a deep breath, let it out, then take another. He tries to release the tension from his muscles - but it’s just so hard, with how high-strung he is!

He’s rewarded for his effort by Geralt’s cock pressing more insistently against his hole, until the head finally pops in. There’s a brief prick of pain, but Jaskier quickly forgets about it in favour of luxuriating in the delightful stretch he feels.

It’s better than Geralt’s tongue. It’s bigger and hotter and it _fills_ Jaskier like nothing before - he never knew he needed to be filled like this, but gods, does he need it - and then Geralt presses forward and there’s _more_ of it, more of that lovely stretch and another pinch of pain, inch by inch disappearing into Jaskier, slow but unyielding.

It’s not even halfway in when Jaskier realizes that he can _see_ Geralt’s cock move inside him where it dents the skin of his stomach. “Oh, _fuck_ , daddy,” Jaskier whines, his hand coming to rest on the vague shape of Geralt under his skin, feeling it move further.

It feels like it’ll never stop, like it will keep pushing deeper and deeper and growing thicker and thicker - until he finally feels Geralt’s hot, heavy balls pressed against his ass. They’re joined pelvis to pelvis, Geralt’s cock sheathed in Jaskier to the very root and bulging the omega’s otherwise flat stomach. It feels so _good_.

When Jaskier breathes in, he feels Geralt’s cock nudge something _in_ him. Jaskier doesn’t have any experience getting fucked, but he would bet that mysterious _something_ is his cervix, and the thought makes him shiver - Geralt being so deep in him he could almost fuck right into his womb, plant his seed there, leaving no doubt that it’s going to catch…

“See? I told you,” Geralt smirks, “you’re made for this. Made for _me_.”

He truly is. Jaskier presses down on the bulge in his stomach, stroking Geralt’s cock through layers of skin and flesh. He loves being stuffed full of Geralt, loves being able to _see_ it.

Geralt withdraws until only the very tip of his cock remains inside - Jaskier is saddened to watch his belly return back to normal - before he thrusts back in, pressing against Jaskier’s cervix. Geralt builds up a nice rhythm for them, easing Jaskier into it but not going too slow. The slide of his cock in Jaskier’s cunt is even better than the stationary stretch.

“You feel so good around me, Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs, “nice and tight.”

“You - you too,” Jaskier sputters as Geralt’s cock brushes over a particularly pleasurable spot inside him. There’s pleasure coiling in his gut, the feeling mounting with every thrust. “I really like it.”

“Yeah? Tell me how good it is.”

Jaskier has no words to describe the beautiful, magical feeling of Geralt’s dick moving inside him, multiplied by the relief Jaskier feels at liking it at all. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever felt before,” he says. “It’s… it’s better than my fingers and it’s better than your tongue, it’s just… incredible.”

And he wants it to be incredible for Geralt as well, so he clenches his muscles to make it better for him. Geralt _growls_ and fucks him faster, harder, reaching deeper - Jaskier feels the tip of his cock brush against his cervix on every single thrust.

It makes Jaskier moan wantonly, and press harder at the spot on his belly where he can feel Geralt when he bottoms out, where the opening of his womb must be.

Geralt’s hand rests on Jaskier’s stomach, too, feeling himself move under Jaskier’s skin. “You see this? Right now your belly is full of my cock,” he grunts, “but soon it will be full of my seed, and then full of my pups.” He grips Jaskier by his hips. “I’m going to breed your virgin cunt and fuck a pup into you - “

“Yes, please,” Jaskier cries. “Make me a mommy, alpha, I want your pups so much!”

He feels Geralt’s knot swelling as it pops in and out of his pussy, and it makes him whine every time he realizes he can stretch even further, just to accommodate Geralt. As Geralt pushes his knot into Jaskier again, the coil of pleasure in Jaskier’s belly suddenly snaps and he comes, calling Geralt’s name. It’s better than any orgasm he ever had on his own.

Geralt pounds into him with reckless abandon, fucking him through the aftershocks, punching little breathy moans of overstimulation out of Jaskier with every movement - until his hips stutter and his knot pops into Jaskier one last time, locking them together.

Jaskier feels him cum, and cum, and continue to cum - hot spurts of seed deep inside him, right against his cervix.

Geralt guides them to lay on their sides while they wait out the tie. Jaskier immediately cuddles up to him, hiding in his big, strong arms. He feels safe there. Loved.

“That was amazing,” he whispers. He’s too tired for a more elaborate review.

“You did so good,” Geralt purrs into his ear. He caresses Jaskier’s belly, bulging from being stuffed with his cock and now being flooded with cum. “I hope it will catch, baby. I want you pregnant as soon as possible.”

“Me too,” Jaskier says. “I love you so much, alpha.”

Geralt kisses him, sweet and languid. “I love you too.”

**\---**   
**FOUR MONTHS LATER**   
**\---**

Jaskier idly rubs at his swollen belly, still amazed by the size of it - he’s never been this _big_ in his life. He likes it, likes carrying Geralt’s pup.

He and Geralt got married about four months ago, and Jaskier has been loving every moment of it. It was easy to settle in Geralt’s home, especially after they’ve moved most of Jaskier’s things here. Jaskier’s days are filled with love and very good sex - and housework, of course, but doing chores around the house is just another way he shows Geralt his love, by taking care of their home.

Like today - he repaired two Geralt’s socks that had holes in it, baked a cherry pie, put the roast for tonight’s dinner with Geralt’s family in the oven, and now he’s trying to knit. He picked up knitting in the first weeks of their marriage, before Geralt surprised him with his own piano, when he needed to fill his days with activity and this one seemed both fun and practical. He’s halfway through making a little hat for their pup, and he’s doing pretty well, if he does say so himself.

The sound of the key turning in the lock pulls him out of his focus. He carefully sets the knitting needles and the ball of yarn aside just as the front door opens. He goes to greet his husband.

Geralt is a vision after a day at work. Jaskier misses him every day the moment he steps out the front door, and he’s always giddy when he returns in the afternoon.

His voice, that deep, pleasant rumble caresses Jaskier’s ears, thrills him to his core. “Hey, baby.”

“Hello, my love,” Jaskier sing-songs, and stands on the tips of his toes to kiss him sweetly. Then, he kneels, and helps Geralt out of his shoes.

With their little greeting ritual out of the way, Jaskier leads Geralt inside. He shows him the darned socks and the half-knitted hat, the cherry pie cooling on the windowsill and the roast cooking in the oven, full to bursting with pride. Geralt smiles, and nods, and freely hands out praise for each of these things.

So Jaskier puts the kettle on to make Geralt a cup of tea to relax him after work, and while he’s waiting for the water to boil, he asks Geralt about his day.

Suddenly, a strange feeling in his guts makes Jaskier gasp softly, cutting off Geralt in the middle of a sentence. Geralt sweeps his eyes over him, a mix of curious and concerned, and Jaskier realizes what just happened.

“Geralt,” he whispers, his hand coming to rest on his belly, “the baby _moved_!” He hurriedly reaches for Geralt. He takes his hand and presses it, palm down, on his belly, waiting, hoping-

The pup moves in him again, and Geralt must feel it, because his pupils expand so much they nearly eclipse his irises.

Jaskier knows that hunger in his eyes all too well. He’s not at all surprised when Geralt pulls him into a bruising kiss, his palm still warm on Jaskier’s stomach. Essi was right - their needs do seem to match in their intensity, and both of them are incredibly turned on by Jaskier’s pregnancy.

“Fuck the tea,” Geralt growls, “right now, I want _you_.” And then he’s scooping Jaskier up and carrying him in his arms up the stairs to their bedroom, while Jaskier giggles happily.

They have a reason to celebrate.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this made me fall in love with omega!Chireadan and alpha!Yennefer, would anyone be interested in reading about how those two got together? I'll probably write it anyway, but knowing people want to read it would definitely encourage me, lol


End file.
